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One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Wake
Thou
Short
Shall
Sleep
Dies
Death
Shalt
Past
Eternally

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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.
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Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
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This Extasie doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love, Wee see by this, it was not sexe, Wee see, we saw not what did move: But as all severall soules contain Mixture of things, they know not what, Love, these mixt souls, doth mixe againe. Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke.
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To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
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I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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Between these two, the denying of sins, which we have done, and the bragging of sins, which we have not done, what a space, what a compass is there, for millions of millions of sins!
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Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
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Friends are ourselves.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
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